The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

The Reality Behind the Ghost Story

As soon as they'd left the schoolyard, James and Ward made their horses gallop. The sun's color had just about changed—another reminder that they'd broken curfew. Now they risked expulsion because of an attack of conscience.

The cold wind made James's eyes water, but he kept his focus on the castle in the distance. Its ancient stones glinted bright orange, reflecting the setting sun's rays. Lights burned yellow lines in the walls, waiting for night to settle in.

He scowled at the castle, the dump where role-playing freaks played out their fascination with swords and sorcery. All this effort to chat with the king of the freaks. Conroy Phipps. Keeper of the castle. All-around asshole.

Joy oh joy.

The old loon and his friends actually lived there, despite the ghosts.

It wasn't just a story to scare children. Everyone in school had seen lights roving the rolling fields around the castle. It had prompted him and Ward to snoop around the castle many times when they were smaller. They'd never found anything to prove that anyone had been out there at night.

Then, when they were about eight or nine, they noticed a small room containing a huge spiral staircase in the castle. When he and Ward ventured a few steps up it, strange things happened. The air went cold. All sounds from the castle vanished as if someone had turned it off. They went exploring up the steps, but met Phipps halfway.

Phipps called Leighton. Leighton threatened expulsion. James's parents canceled their family trip to Spain. Phipps had picked on them ever since.

They arrived at the entrance and James snapped out of his memories. The drawbridge was up. He drew in the reins and frowned at Ward.

In all their time at Grayston, the drawbridge had never been lifted. It just wasn't done. Nothing had threatened the castle in hundreds of years.

Ward shrugged and peered along the walls. James followed suit and found a shadowy figure watching them from the battlements. The king of the freaks himself.

The drawbridge lowered.

"Come in," Conroy Phipps shouted, his voice as hoarse as ever. "I'll meet you in the courtyard."

James shook his head and rode onto the wooden planks. The entrance tunnel was pitch-black, so he kept his concentration fixed on the dim light waiting for him on the inside of the castle. Ward entered behind him.

James's horse nickered and came to a sudden stop, killing the rhythmless staccato of hooves striking stone.

"What's wrong?" Ward asked, slowly riding up behind him.

"Stupid horse froze up on me," James said and nudged it again.

It tensed, but didn't budge. James's stomach clenched as if in a vise. This horse feared nothing. In the hundred or so times James had gotten to ride it, it never stopped before a jump. Never missed a beat. The darkness pressed against his memories. This wasn't good. It wasn't...

Ward pulled up next to him. "It's all right. We're almost—"

"I know it's all right," James snapped.

He gathered his courage and kicked the horse's sides. It neighed and galloped forward.

A foul stench attacked James's nose when he entered the courtyard. He waved away the cloud of flies around his head and glanced back to Ward, his mouth filling with the bitter taste of bile.

Sunset rays lit Ward's pale face, giving it an unnatural red glow. He'd put his hand over his mouth and nose. James turned his sights on the walls, but couldn't spot the old man.

"What is that?" Ward asked, frowning at something on the ground.

James scowled at the rust-colored stain in the soil.

Ward's hand lowered. "I think it might be blood."

Blood? Really? James huffed a weak laugh. "Trust the circus freaks—"

Ward's frown deepened. "James?"

"To slaughter a live animal..."

Ward slowly dropped his hand from his face. He stared ahead of him wide-eyed. "James... Oh...my God."

What was with him?

James followed the direction of Ward's horrified stare. "In a public—"

In front of them lay heaps on heaps of...

Corpses.

James yanked back the reins. Words stopped. Thoughts stopped. His mind dulled and turned. He stared in front of him, fixated on the absolute carnage. Hundreds of corpses lay piled up around the courtyard.

Ward closed his eyes and retched.

James leaned to one side of the horse and threw up. When he managed lift his head, he met Phipps's dark eyes. James was too busy coping with another round of nausea to squirm.

The evening breeze wafted the stench of decomposition back and forth. James's head drooped and he fought for control over his stomach. People were killed here.

Not ghosts.

People.

How was it possible?

It wasn't. Yet there they were, cut up, arrows sticking out of them, stacked in heaps of fifty or so. Severed body parts were in separate stacks. Red uniforms glared in the setting sun's last rays.

I love this scene, because despite James being determined not to give Phipps the upper hand, Phipps ends up catching him after he reveals weakness. 

Please do let me know what you think of this section, and don't forget to vote if you liked it. 

One more thing. As you know, I'm publishing The Vanished Knight and its sequel The Heir's Choice on 31 July. Don't worry, I'm not going to stop posting here. BUT I am posting teaser graphics from both books on my Tumblr Blog, going from A to Z until Release Day. 

So if you're curious about the series, and would like to know what I'm reading (once I get around to reading again), head over to mishagerrick.tumblr.com. 

Hope to see you there!